Love You Forever
by ZombieJazz
Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. Now on the cusp of becoming a teenager and starting high school, Noah is challenging the family that she's spent years building for him. Ups-and-downs and heartache are ahead as her, Will and Noah try to figure out together what family and fatherhood really means. Story 9 of series.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

"Well, why can't you just take me home?" He spat at her as they got off the elevator.

"Because this isn't a vacation, Noah," she glared at him, as he stormed towards the squad room. "You're suspended. You aren't going to go home to spend the afternoon watching television, playing video games and surfing the Internet."

She was so angry at her 13-year-old son. Not only had she had to leave work to go into the school and get him – but she had to sit in his principal's office and hear about how disrespectful he'd been to his one teacher and then again to the principal when he was called in to discuss the infraction. Worse still, he'd sat there and just shrugged at every comment made and question directed at him during the meeting.

She didn't know what was going on with him. He was in his last semester of middle school. He'd excelled academically. His future already looked bright. They had applications out to some of the top public schools and private schools. He had his sights set on getting to go to the High School for Math Science and Engineering. Will was over the moon about it – and she was just happy he was working towards something. The administration at his school had told them that with his marks, his personal and family history and their catchment area, he had a good chance of getting a scholarship. He was going to have doors open to him that a lot of kids in their income bracket could only dream about. But right now he seemed determined on slamming those doors shut – and he wasn't even giving her a clear indication why.

He'd been acting out lately. At first she'd been writing it off as just puberty and his own anxiety about what was going on with his high school applications and where he'd end up the following fall. Starting high school was stressful enough for kids. Adding in the competitive aspect of trying to get in somewhere that would give him a solid foundation for his future – that he was still too young to have even decided what that really meant – is rough on any kid that age. But his growing defiance and attitude was starting to upset her. She'd started considering if drugs or alcohol were playing a role – but she hadn't seen any evidence of that. Her son really didn't have enough friends that he'd be going out and successfully getting it into his system outside of her view, she thought.

She just couldn't figure it out – and he was refusing to talk to her. She'd pretty much decided she hated puberty – and that she hated having a teenager. She missed her son. People had told her that he'd snap out of – sometime between 17 and 21. That sounded like an absurdly long time to wait to her.

"Whatever," he mumbled at her and walked right past her desk.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" she said.

He turned around and crossed his arms. "To the bunks."

She snorted. "No you aren't. You think you're going to get to go and sleep all afternoon too?" She pointed at the chair sitting next to her desk. "Sit down."

He rolled his eyes at her.

"Cut the attitude, Noah," she told him sternly.

"I'm not going to sit here all day," he said, glaring at her.

She smiled at him and how ridiculous he was being. "Yes, you are. Sit down."

He crossed his arms. "You're embarrassing yourself," he told her, nodding at the other detectives who were clearly looking on.

She shrugged. "Noah, you've caused enough embarrassment for the both of us today. A little bit more? No big deal for me. What about you? Sit down."

She walked past him and sat at her desk and pointed dagger eyes into him again – even though he kept his back turned to her and his arms still drawn against his chest.

"Hey, Amaro," she said to her partner sitting across from her, looking at her with questioning eyes. "Want to hear the essay my apparently gifted son wrote for his history class?"

Nick shrugged. "Sure."

She held up the scrunched piece of paper she'd been carrying since leaving his principal's office. "Fuck, fuckedity, fuck, fuck. Fuck, fuck. And that goes on for about four pages. It's pretty deep stuff."

Noah turned around and glared at her. "Shut up," he said.

"Sit down," she told him again.

He stormed over and slammed himself into the seat. "You're as much of a fucking cunt as her," he spat at her.

It stung – but she just kept her eyes on him. "If you EVER call me – or any other woman – that again, your cheek is going to be stinging into next year."

She'd never hit her son before – but she didn't think she was bluffing. The word coming out of his mouth made her want to slap him. She hadn't raised him to talk to women that way.

"Big deal."

"It is a big deal, Noah. You some respect. To me – and to yourself." He didn't even look at her.

"Give me your phone." He glared at her. "Give me your phone, Noah," she said again and he dug it out of his pocket and tossed it on her desk. She took it and placed it in her top drawer. "Give me your bag."

"I don't have anything in my bag. You've got my phone. You've got me sitting here. I have nothing to do. Success. I'll watch all your fucking criminals ..."

She slapped the desk. "Enough! You are going to stop using that language. Give me your bag."

He huffed and handed her his backpack. She opened it and slammed a history textbook on to the edge of the desk next to him – and then shoved a pad of paper and a pen at him. "Start reading and start writing."

He crossed his arms again and slouched down in the chair looking off into space.

She leaned over towards him. "You think this little stunt makes you a tough guy, Noah? Getting lots of laughs at school? Not such a geek anymore, right? Now you're pretty cool – telling your teacher and principal to go fuck themselves? Really funny. The only person you're hurting is yourself."

He looked at her. "I'm not writing the stupid essay."

She shrugged. "Fine. You want to lose the opportunity to go to HSMSE? Or one of the private schools? At a scholarship? I don't care. Saves me a boatload of money."

"It doesn't matter where I go to school," he spat back at her. "I'm just going to go to NYU as a faculty kid. They have to let me in. This doesn't even fucking matter."

She shrugged. "OK. I'm sure your father will be happy to vouch for a student who doesn't care about his future and treats his teachers like shit."

"Will won't care," Noah shook his head.

She snorted. "Yeah, he loves the lazy asses who play the system. He's going to be so happy to learn we've raised one."

Noah glared at her. "It's just a fucking history essay."

"Oh, it was a fucking essay alright, Noah. So now you're going to write a non-fucking essay. Now."

He shook his head. "I hate you."

"Hate me all you want, Noah."

**There will be more chapters for this here and there. Have thoughts on at least another couple that will likely come shortly. But mostly just capturing something I was thinking about based on some readers comments and questions from Undeserved about what would happen to Noah and what his and his mother's future holds. Still, any feedback is always appreciated**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

He'd come to loiter in the kitchen doorway so quietly that she hadn't even heard him. But she could feel him looking at her now – while she stood at the counter seeping her tea with her back turned to him.

"Are you done?" She asked without looking at him.

He didn't respond right away and a long silence hung in the air until he finally said, "Yeah", quietly.

She opened the fridge door and pulled out a plate of chicken, mushroom risotto and steamed zucchini that was covered in saran wrap.

"Do you want it warmed up?" She asked – looking at him for the first time. He was hanging his head and not making eye contact – but he allowed a nod so small that it was hardly noticeably.

She pealed off the plastic and put the plate in the microwave, punching a couple numbers and hitting start.

"Bring the print out to the table and sit down," she told him.

He disappeared back down the hall without saying a thing and several minutes later re-appeared with his small stack of papers and sat down. She brought his dinner out to him and set it in front of him, handing him utensils before taking her tea and sitting kitty-corner to him. It was almost 10 p.m. – she knew he'd be hungry. But he sat staring at his meal.

"Eat, Noah," she told him softly. She always had to tell her son to eat.

He picked up the fork and slowly started picking away at the risotto, putting small tastes into his mouth. She watched him for a moment before she spun his essay around so it was facing her and started reading it over.

"Have you told Dad yet?" He asked quietly when she wasn't more than a paragraph in.

She looked at him – but his head was still hanging and she only got to see the top of his head. Will was at a conference in London. She'd only been able to speak with him briefly so far that day with his commitments over there and dealing with the time difference.

"Yes," told her son.

"What'd he say?"

"He's disappointed," she said. "We both are."

Her son's head bobbed a bit.

She watched him as he continued to poke away at his plate – hunched over it.

"This is good, Noah," she said, tapping her finger against the essay. "Why wasn't this what got handed in in the first place?"

He shrugged.

"You're going to need to give me a better answer then that before we get this resolved," she said.

He gave her a small glance from his downcast gaze.

"Am I grounded?" He asked.

"Yes, you are."

"How?"

"I haven't decided yet. You telling me what the hell is going on will help me make a better decision."

He just shrugged again.

She sighed and put a hand to her temple. "Noah, you've got to do better than that. Talk to me. Please, sweetheart. Is something going on at school?"

"All you and Will care about are my marks," he said.

"You know that's not true."

He stabbed at his chicken with his fork.

"You're feeling a lot of pressure with the high school applications," she said, more as a statement than a question. But either way he didn't answer.

"Pulling a stunt like you did today, isn't going to make the process any easier," she told him.

He shrugged.

She shook her head. "I don't know what's going on with you lately," she said.

"Nothing," he spat out – still not looking at her.

"Well, it sure doesn't seem like nothing."

She stared at him for several minutes but he made no comment and continued to poke away at his plate. So she looked back to his essay and circled a couple grammatical errors for him – and then flipped over to the second page and started to read down it.

He knew how to write an essay – at least for a kid his grade level. And, it was clear he knew the material. And, he should. They went up to Massachusetts on a family road trip nearly every summer. They'd been to lots of historical sites up there and done the walking tours around Boston. Her son had got to experience Revolutionary history outside of the history books already. Beyond that, her son and Will sat watching enough of the History Channel, that she could only assume some of it was sinking it. He may not be as interested in his history lessons as much as he liked math or science and he might not dive into those books as much as he could bury himself in a novel – but it wasn't a topic he hated. She knew that. The comments in the short paper were coherent and she also suspected it wasn't just from what he'd been forced to read in the textbook in the afternoon. He'd been listening in class and she even thought he had likely done some research previously before handing in the atrocity of that morning. What she was looking at compared to what she'd been handed in the principal's office that morning were beyond light and day. It was about as diatonically opposite as things could get.

She sighed as she finished reading the paper and looked at him again.

"Noah, I can't help if you don't talk to me."

"How come Dad didn't want to talk to me tonight?" he asked instead of commenting on her statement.

"Because he didn't want to have an argument with you over the telephone – and because I told him you were working on your paper."

"Well, can I call him now?" He looked up at her with hopeful eyes briefly but then quickly pulled them away when he realized he'd made the eye contact.

"No, Noah, you can't. It's 3 a.m. there. He'll be sleeping."

He sighed loudly.

"What do you need to talk to your father about?"

"Nothing," Noah said.

"OK," she rubbed at her eyebrow. "You said some pretty awful things about Ms. Hermann. Did something happen that made you call her those things?"

"No."

"You seemed pretty upset with her and with that class, Noah," she pushed.

"Mom, nothing happened. Nothing is wrong. There's nothing to talk about," he blurted and slammed his fork down onto the table.

She looked at him. The defiance and anger in him from earlier in the day was gone – but the tension was still there. She knew her son well enough to know something was bothering him – eating away at him, that something made him do what he'd done. But she needed him to tell her what it was. Still, she'd concluded that wasn't going to happen that night.

"OK," she said and pushed the paper back towards him. "I want you to fix those spelling and grammar errors and I want you to look at your last paragraph. I think you can do better there. I also want you to write your hand-written apology to Ms. Hermann before you go to bed – and I want to see it at the breakfast table in the morning. It better be sincere, Noah."

His head hung again.

"Are you done eating?"

He shrugged.

"Then go to back to your room, please. I want to see your lights out by 11 p.m. It's past your lights out as it is."

He pushed his chair out and got up and started to trudge back towards his bedroom.

"Noah," she called to him and he stopped and gave her a small glance over his shoulder. "I love you," she said.

She saw another small bobbed of his head and he started to walk again.

"I love you too, Mom," she echoed back for him.

"I love you too, Mom," he mumbled just loudly enough that she could barely catch it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

"Hey, I'm home," she called as she came in the door.

Her son didn't answer back – but she hadn't really expected him to. He was still getting over whatever exactly it was he was getting over. And, she imagined he wasn't all that pleased with her after getting to spend his first day home of his three-day suspension.

She'd made clear to him that he wasn't on vacation – that he was to be using the time to work on the class work that she'd picked up at the school for him, his book report and his social studies project. She usually knew her son to listen when rules were laid down. But with his attitude lately and his latest stunt, she'd decided she wasn't taking any risks.

She'd unplugged the modem and router and hidden them away in her bedroom. There'd actually been a brief moment where she even considered taking them with her for the day. She'd also sat in front of the TV in the living room and basement and fiddled around until she got the parental pass code programmed so he couldn't flop down in front of there. She'd hidden away the controllers for his Xbox too – and had had to call Will as he was barely getting up overseas to walk her through how to put in restriction codes on that too.

She still had his phone and had left him with just one of their disposable pre-paid cells that they kept around for emergencies. He was deeply unimpressed with that in the morning. But she figured giving him his phone back – he might as well not have even been grounded. All he got left with was the family laptop to work away on. She didn't think they had much on that in ways of entertainment beyond music. All the other games her son would go looking for would've been on the family iPad and Will had taken that with him on his trip.

She wandered passed his home as she came down the hall and poked her head in the open door. He wasn't in there – but there was some evidence that he'd done some schoolwork during the day. Papers and textbooks were spread out on his desk and the laptop was in there. Though she noted that his bed was unmade and dirty clothes were on the floor. He didn't score bonus points for that, that's for sure.

She founded him in the kitchen. She'd told him that he was responsible for making them dinner – since he was going to be home the next few days. He'd sighed heavily at that too, like she was being totalitarian in her punishments for him.

"I'm home," she told him again and he glanced up from stirring at a pot.

"Good, we can finally eat," was all he said. It was hardly after 6 p.m. – she knew he couldn't be starving and she was actually a little earlier than what she'd told him to expect her.

"Hi Mom," she said for him – but he ignored her and took the pot over to the sink and dumped it into a strainer. "Hi, Noah."

She watched him as he shook off the pasta and then ran cold water of it and then shook it some more. Then he pulled a plate out of the cupboard and a serving spoon out of the drawer and started piling some of the carbs on his plate.

She sighed. She knew that was likely it. Noah's definition of pasta was still – literally – just pasta. He'd eat it plain. A habit he picked up while in chemo as a little boy. He went through a period where elbow pastas was about the only thing he'd eat – but only if it was plain and out of a box – not a bag, and not with mac-and-cheese powder on it, not even a dab of margarine on it.

The whole experience had still left her son as a picky eater, who she still fretted about if he was getting enough calories, protein, fats and nutrients for a boy his age and going through his growth and development. His growth and development had been stunted enough as it was. He was still behind most kids his age. She knew it frustrated him – even though he understood why, and had heard the 'everyone develops and grows at their own rate' adage repeatedly. Still, it all still seemed to make him angry; like it was some additional injustice he was having to endure.

"Is that all there is for dinner Noah?" She asked.

He opened the fridge door a little too forcibly and pulled out the bin of mixed greens and dropped it on the counter. "Salad," he said, nudging it at her.

She rolled her eyes but went and got a plate for herself, since he wasn't offering one and clearly didn't plan to serve her.

"I had kind of hoped you'd put a bit more effort into it than this, Noah," she told him as she put some pasta on her plate.

"You said to make dinner, I made dinner," he responded, pulling some of the spring mix out of the bin with his bare hand.

"I meant cook dinner," she said.

"I did," he spat back and glared at her.

"You boiled water," she told him sternly.

He just shrugged – and exited the kitchen to loudly pull out a chair at the dining room table and plop down.

She moved stuff around in their pantry cupboard and managed to find a jar of store-bought pasta sauce and opened it to spoon a bit onto her noodles and mixed it in in the hopes that it would be lukewarm, at least. She also grabbed a tomato, a cucumber, a bottle of vinaigrette and a knife – resources to bulk up her salad - before joining him at the table.

"I put chicken breasts in the fridge – and there's all those nice vegetables," she told him as she sat down. "Tomorrow – you can make a stir fry for us. Please – and thank you."

He glared at her from his side of the table. She knew he hated any cooking that involved much prep work and for Noah the chopping involved in a stir fry was about the worst kind of prep work. But she'd put the chicken breasts down for him that morning –hoping that he might take the hint and show some effort and creativity. That hadn't happened – so he was going to get to make what she said instead.

"So what did you accomplish today?" She asked as she started her meal.

"New jack-off record," he spat at her. "Since you had to go and take away everything, I had to make my own entertainment."

She didn't even look up from her plate – but rubbed her eyebrow. She knew he was fishing for a reaction – she wasn't going to give it to him. Though she did kind of want to laugh at him.

"So did you make much progress on your social science project?" She asked instead.

He crossed his arms and glared at her. "Didn't you hear me?"

She glanced at him from her meal – and gave him a small smile. He looked ridiculous sitting there and trying to be defiant – worse trying to upset her or shock her in someway by announcing his alleged masturbation.

"I heard you, Noah," she offered. "You want me to chastise you for masturbating? I won't. I don't care. Do I think if you really spent your whole day doing that, it was the best use of your time? No. I don't. You must be feeling a little chafed."

He went red, perhaps suddenly realizing what he'd just said and admitted to his mother, and huffed at her calling his bluff - and looked back to his plate. So she looked back to hers too.

"So did you make much progress on your social studies project?" She asked again.

"It's kind of hard to do when someone took away the Internet," he mumbled.

She gazed at him. "Have you picked a topic? We can find some websites tonight for you – and we'll give you access to them so you can work on your research tomorrow."

He shrugged.

"You'll pick a topic before you leave the table," she told him, getting to look at the top of his head. He made no response. "Did you pick a book from the book list? It looked like we have a lot of them already."

He shrugged again.

"Do we need to go over to the book store?"

He looked up at her – his eyes lighting up a bit. "We can go to the book store?"

"If you can tell me some of the books you are interested in – and why you're more interested in them then what we have here – then, yes, we can go to the book store."

He pushed the pasta around on his plate but put some of the field greens into his mouth and chewed in silence. She let it sit with him for a moment.

"Ender's Game is on the list," he said quietly. "Dad got me the graphic novels. I liked them."

She nodded. "And that's the book you want to read?"

He gave a little head bob.

"Did you go upstairs and check Dad's self?"

He shook his head.

"Do that after dinner. If he doesn't have it – we'll go to the store and pick it up."

His head shot up with a smile – but he quickly looked back to his plate to hide it.

"After you clean up the kitchen and dishes," she added, to make sure he didn't get too excited about getting some time out of the house.

"So if you didn't work on your project or your book report today – I hope a lot of your class work got done," she said.

He nodded a little bit more.

"What did you work on?"

"Math and Spanish," he said softly.

She nodded. "OK. I want to take a quick look before we go out."

Noah was just poking at his dinner again. "Put some of that in your belly, please, Noah," she reminded him again – and he – for once – obediently put another forkful in his mouth.

She watched him. "Are you ready to talk about what's going on?"

He shrugged – and she audibly sighed.

"Is Dad still going to bring me home a soccer jersey?" He asked quietly.

"Do you think you still deserve a soccer jersey?"

He shrugged again. "I guess not."

"Likely not," she agreed.

His head hung again. "I told some people already," he said almost at a whisper.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to explain to them that your little stunt lost you some privileges, won't you?"

He nodded. "They're going to make fun of me," he said quietly again and hung his head a bit lower. He lifted his one hand up to his face.

She tilted her head a bit more – trying to get him to make eye contact with her. "Are some kids giving you a hard time at school, Noah?"

He just shrugged. "Can I be excused?" He finally asked quietly – despite her steady gaze on him.

"Your social studies project topic," she said.

"The Bill of Rights, I guess," he said.

She nodded. "OK, clear the table," she told him gently.

He stood up and tried to keep his face turned from her but she could see it was flushed the way it did when he was trying to hold back tears – and she sighed.

She stood too and grabbed his elbow as he tried to go by her. She took the plate from him and put it back onto the table and pulled him to her. He pulled a way a bit at first but then let her wrap her arms around him – though he didn't bring his arms up to her to return the hug. She felt him stiffly looking over her shoulder and keeping his back and shoulders rigid - and his body away from her as much as he could. She rubbed his back and put a kiss on the top of his head – and then let go of him.

"I'm worried about you, sweets," she told him seriously, placing her hands on his cheeks and trying to gently tilt his eyes to look up at her. He still diverted them. "I wish you'd talk to me."

But he just shrugged and picked up his plate back from where she'd set it and trudged with it into the kitchen to rinse it off at the sink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

She'd seriously considered not letting him play with his baseball team that week – as part of his grounding. But the reality was that it was his first season on the juniors division tournament league. It was a good opportunity for him – he'd worked hard to get picked in the tryouts. And, beyond that, they'd paid a lot of money for him to be in the tournament league, rather than just the divisional scrimmages. Noah had even saved up his allowance over the winter to theoretically help offset the costs – even though in the end, it was still technically all money coming from the same place. So no matter how much she hated the stunt he'd pulled – she didn't want that mistake to screw up his entire season – especially this early in it - and see her son and their registration fees benched.

It hadn't been a very good game – and Noah's team lost badly. She'd found herself a little bored, standing off to the side watching it – alone. At least when Will was around – they used it as chatting time. Instead, she just hovered drinking her green tea and calling out occasional encouragements to her son. He'd made some plays out on the field – but hadn't managed to connect with the ball up at bat that day. She could tell by his body language that he was frustrated. But she also didn't think his head was entirely in the game.

When the game finally ended, she started to make her way down towards the field to meet up with him. She watched as the teams gathered on the sand to shake hands following the game. She saw Noah going down the line – but then some kid on the opposite team pushed his shoulder instead of slapping his hand. Her son's body visibly moved with the force. She saw Noah clearly say something and the other kid leaned forward and say something back. But then it was done and the kids both moved on. Or so she thought.

She stopped a bit back from the field and waited. She knew Noah liked to sit in the dugout and change out of his cleats after the game – and collect the rest of his gear. Some other kids were still milling around – but the players and their families and other onlookers started to clear. She waited longer and saw the coaches gather up the gear bags and start off too. Noah's coach gave her a nod as he walked by.

"Still waiting on him," he said.

She gave a small smile. "Still waiting on him," she agreed.

Noah was a dawdler. He always had been. He got everything done – but it was always in his own sweet time. Sometimes it drove her a little crazy. Noah was never in a rush. He was always the last one in line or out the door. So, again, she was forced to just stand and wait for him. Wishing he'd hurry it up – so they could get home, get some dinner, and he could get to his homework – and she could get to truly unwinding for work.

She finally saw him appear again – his gear bag hanging loosely over his shoulder - and started walking around the back of the backstop. But then the kid from end-game line appeared from other where a group of the few players from the other team were still gathered. She watched as he walked up to her son. He was probably at least seven inches taller and more than 20 lbs heavier than Noah.

He clearly said something to Noah again – and her son just looked at the ground without a response. Then the kid pushed Noah's shoulder again – this time sending him sprawling into the chain-link fence of the backstop. His bag fell to the ground - and then Noah just stayed there as the kid continued to clearly say something to him – his face only inches from her boy's.

She gazed at it for a moment longer – and then started to walk over. She'd only got about five steps when the kid put both his hands against her son's chest and forcibly pushed him harder into the fence. Noah bounced off it – but again just stood there and took it. She picked up her pace.

"Hey," she called out. "What's going on there?"

The kid glanced over his shoulder at her – still about 10 metres away. She saw Noah's eyes rise to her too – but then he dropped them and looked at the ground. Rather than stopping with her appearance on the scene, the kid rammed her son into the fence again – and then brought his knee up and jammed it onto Noah's crotch. She figured he must've taken pulled out his cup while in the dug out – because the kid didn't have any reaction but her son made a gasping sound and then crumpled over.

"Hey," she yelled that time and quickly closed the gap.

The kid looked at her as she arrived and pushed Noah's hunched figure into the fence again – and he stayed there leaned over on himself.

She reactively grabbed at the other kid's shoulder – and he jerked away. "Don't fucking touch me, bitch," he yelled.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She demanded, positioning herself between him and her son. "Noah, are you OK?"

She son was coughing up whatever he'd hydrated with during the game and now still dry heaving, though nothing more was spewing out of him. He didn't respond – though it was pretty clear he wasn't OK.

"Aww, Benson's got Mommy to protect him," the kid called back over his shoulder to the couple remaining players. She heard some laughs.

"Mom, go away," Noah hissed at her, between his gags and tried to stand up straight again. She looked at him.

"Who is this?" She said to her son – and then looked back at the other kid, who didn't seem scared of her at all. "What's your name? Where are your parents?"

The kid laughed at her. "I don't need a police escort like this little fag," the kid said and spit towards her son. It just fell short of him.

She glared at the kid. "If you know I'm a police officer, then you should know that I can arrest you here and take you in on assault," she said.

The kid crossed his arms. "No you can't. You haven't identified yourself – and you have a personal interest. The fag's your kid. My dad's a lawyer."

"Well, that's good. You're going to need one," she said. "What's your name?"

"Mom," Noah whined again. "Stop."

"Hey," she called at the couple players who hadn't run away at that point. "Who is this?"

They didn't respond and made a sprint for it too.

"Noah, who is this?" She said. He didn't answer.

The kid smiled. "First smart thing he's done in weeks."

She got out her phone – and the kid started sauntering away. "I wouldn't go anywhere, if I were you," she said. "I'm filing a report. You're going to have some questions to answer."

"Whatever," the kid said. "You and Mommy have a good night, Faggot. Don't let the panty police bite. Unless that's your thing, Freak."

She watched the kid for a moment – taking some more mental notes about the direction he was head, his appearance and the number on his uniform. She knew it wouldn't be hard to identify him – even if Noah wouldn't tell her who he was and what the hell was going on. Even if she didn't report it – she sure as hell was going to track down his parents.

She turned back to her son and touched his shoulder. She could see some tear streaks down his face and he still had his hands gathered protectively in front of his mid-section and his feet gathered together like he could hardly stand. He was keeping his shoulder against the fence for support – and to keep himself upright. She thought if it hadn't been there – he would've been flat out on the ground from the kneeing.

"Sweetheart, are you OK?"

"Don't call me that," he spat. "Leave me alone, Mom."

She looked at him. She didn't want to leave him alone. She wanted to know what the hell was going on. She wanted to know he was OK – because he sure as hell didn't look OK. He looked like he was in a huge amount of pain. She wanted to see him try to move – to tell her how hard the kid had kneed him, if they needed to go and get him medical attention. She wanted him to tell her who the hell the kid was.

"OK. I'll give you a minute to pull it together," she agreed hesitantly. "I'm going to call this in."

"Mom, don't," it sounded like he was almost at tears again. "I'm fine. Please, just leave me alone, Mom. Go away."

She moved over to his side and took off his baseball cap to try to get better eye contact with him. He grabbed at it – but she moved it down to her side and slightly behind her back, just out of his reach.

"Hey," she said. "Noah, I'm not going anywhere."

He had tears rolling down his face again now and banged his head against the fence a couple times.

"Hey, hey," she said and put her hand up between his head and the fence. "Don't do that," she told him. She caressed his cheek as he stopped the violent movement. "Noah. Calm down. Look at me."

He sputtered for several seconds but finally brought his glassy eyes to her and she gripped at his shoulder.

"OK, Noah. Are you OK? Can you walk? Do you need to go and see a doctor?"

"I don't need to see a doctor," he protested. She wasn't sure she believed him.

"Can you move?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet," he said quietly and then nearly choked on another sob.

"Noah," she said slowly. "I need that boy's name. That was assault – and sexual harassment. We are filing a report on this."

Tears started again with that.

"Please, Mom, don't."

She sighed. Her mind was churning about how to approach this. The cop in her was saying she wanted to get this reported – that she shouldn't have let the kid walk away. That she should be looking around and collecting witness statements from people who saw the altercation. That what the kid did was wrong. That it was clearly unprovoked. Her son hadn't even put any kind of fight. Part of her mother side was saying the same time. But that side was also telling her to not over-react and to be his mother – not a cop. That side was churning about his physical well-being and trying to decide if he really was just going to be sore for a while – or if they needed to get over to the ER.

"Noah – we can't let someone get away with something like that. That was bullying – in addition to him hurting you. He could've really hurt you. We need to get you checked out. I'm calling it in. If you won't give me his name – then you are going to be giving it to a police officer in a bit."

Noah beat his head against the fence again and gritted his teeth.

"Noah," she said – putting her hand up again to calm his movements. "Tell me his name."

"Ryan Gorwski," he said so quietly she barely heard it. "He goes to my school."

She touched his cheek. "OK, sweets, thank you. Just try to relax, OK? I'm just going to make the call."

She walked a few metres away and took out her phone again and called into command. Though, she kept both her eyes on her son as she did so.

"Hi," she said. "This is Detective Olivia Benson, badge number 4015, I'm off-duty. But my son was just assaulted in Central Park. We're at ball field seven on the Great Lawn.

"Yeah. No. Several minutes after the game, a player from the other team approached him, forcibly threw him into a fence several times and then kneed him in the crotch.

"My son's 13. Noah. He says the assailant's name is Ryan Gorwski. He's wearing an Upper West Side league uniform. It's blue. The team is the Jays. Player number 29 on the back. About five-four, maybe 115 pounds. Blond hair, grey eyes, braces. He left the field walking southeast. The assailant apparently attends my son's school – M.S. 245. I spoke with him. He reported his father was a lawyer.

"No. I don't know him. I'm a witness. No – I didn't make an arrest. I was here as a private spectator, watching my son play. There's other people around. I'm not sure if they saw anything. There was a small group of players from the assailant's team during the assault – but they also have left the scene.

"Well, I'd like to take him over to the hospital to get checked out – if they can meet us there to take a statement. He vomited and he hasn't moved yet. No. I'll call a bus if we need it. Will try to flag down a taxi first. We're closest to Mount Sinai – that's our base hospital anyways. Yeah. This number is fine. OK. Thanks."

She walked back over to Noah. He was still cringing against the fence.

"You just made my life even worse," he told her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

Noah glanced up at her as she came back into the living room from the kitchen. He still looked upset – though he offered no comment, and quickly shifted his eyes back to the Yankees' game on the television.

He had it on mute. She wasn't even sure he realized it was still on mute. She'd seen that he looked lost in thought when she stepped into the room. He had muted the television, though, when she'd allowed him to call Will when they got back home and he'd awkwardly lowered himself on the couch and accepted the soft cold pack she gave him, followed by the phone.

She'd heard him talking to the only man he'd ever known as his father while she was in the kitchen making him something to eat. The one-sided conversation had been hushed but she'd heard words like "not fair" and "hate her" and "it's stupid" and "I don't care". It had been a short conversation, though. Will really didn't excel at telephone conversations anyways and he really lacked patience in dealing with the young teen over the phone. He always felt like everything with the boy by phone was confrontational and that Noah just didn't listen. It upset Will and he basically refused to participate. She expected that Will would call her back later and express that that was exactly what had happened – again. But for now, Noah offered no explanation.

She held out the plate with the fried egg sandwich towards him. He glanced at her again – his elbow on the arm of the couch and his cheek resting on a clenched fist there in a clear and angry sulk. He contemplated her for a moment but then accepted the plate – so she sat down on the opposite end of the couch from him and watched him. He picked up the one corner of the sandwich and examined its insides for a moment – before lifting the half from the plate and taking a bite.

Fried-egg sandwiches. It was one of the few things her son would eat without having to be promoted. They were so simple – but he wouldn't make them himself, though he would ask for them. Only she made them the right way, according to her now 13-year-old, who was quickly drawing near his 14th birthday. It was ridiculous but somehow nice to still feel needed by the boy.

How she made them right wasn't even in how she fried the egg – because, really, how many ways can you fry an egg? It was all about how much ketchup she spread in a thin layer on each piece of toast before squishing the egg between the two pieces of bread. Noah claimed he couldn't get it to taste right himself. It was even worse if Will made it for him – the boy would hardly take a bite before rejecting it then. She found it even more ridiculous because she really didn't have a technique to her ketchup application – there wasn't even a rhythm or reason to it. She literally just put a small squirt that felt right on each side and then spread it with a knife. But in being the mother to a cancer child – now survivor – she'd long ago learned that the most comforting things often were things like that sparse layer of ketchup on a fried egg sandwich. Those simple, thin layers of a seemingly meaningless condiment on an otherwise bland meal could become great sources of comfort and could basically become what it meant to be a mother. Motherhood wasn't in the great gestures or moments of achievement in your child's life. It was in the small, simple, everyday, repeated tasks of just being there for your child – and knowing what could make them feel better for at least a moment before the next round.

She watched his eat quietly. He gave her a couple sideways glances, which she knew was his awkward way of expressing thanks while he was still upset with her and with everything else. She wasn't going to push him for more.

For the most part she was just thankful that he was OK – short of some bruises and swelling and him clearly still being in pain, that was expected to last at least a couple days, the doctor had said. Noah hadn't been very happy about her taking him to the hospital. He'd even been less thrilled when the doctor wanted to examine his junk for swelling. She wasn't exactly happy about anyone handling her son's genitals either but she'd figured it was better than him potentially having some sort of serious damage.

He'd been vocally upset with her, though, and had initially refused the exam. It had taken some convincing that with the amount of pain he was in and with how the blow was delivered, it was important that he be assessed – or else there might be a lot more doctors groping him in the future. So he'd reluctantly agreed, after demanding that she go and wait outside the curtain around his bed in the ER. She hadn't exactly been planning to watch. She'd been intending to stand up near his head or behind him and just make sure everything was OK and offer him any support if he needed it. Though she understood why her son wouldn't want his mother in the room – it had still been hard to step outside and wait to be invited back in.

Still, it hadn't been as hard as when Noah demanded she leave again when the cops finally showed up to take his statement and explanation about what had happened. She hadn't even considered he would talk to them without her – or that he would know that that was an option or that the officers would ask to speak with the victim alone – especially when she was a fellow officer. She should've known, though. He was her son. He'd heard enough bits and pieces of her talking about work and been in and out of the precinct enough that he had a reasonable understanding of how these things worked. Not to mention, that she had had a handful of conversations with him about what to do if he ever did get in trouble or was questioned by the police for any reason – what his rights were, who to call, who to talk to, things to ask for.

So she hadn't gotten to hear what the boy had said to her soon or what may have spurred the attack. She hadn't gotten to hear Noah's version of events – which she really desperately wanted to. She'd tried to get a couple details out of the officers when they'd come over to her outside to take her statement and to talk about her involvement in the incident. But they'd been coy – as was basically their job. Though they did confirm that they'd located the suspect and asked if she'd still wanted to press charges. She had said yes, even though she knew that Noah would be against it. She wasn't going to condone the behaviour by the other kid.

So after several hours at the hospital they'd finally been sent home with the recommendation of ibuprofen and ice packs – and to come back in if the pain and swelling continued beyond a couple days or if he had any difficulty passing urine – or pain when getting an erection or ejaculating, which she knew were words her son also had been uncomfortable with her hearing in that setting and from the doctor. She knew if any of those problems were happening too – urinating or otherwise, it wouldn't be her he'd be telling he needed to go back to the doctor, so she kind of wished Will would hurry up and get home.

"I'm not gay," Noah said suddenly – and she shook from her thoughts from where she'd still been sitting and contemplating him. It took her a moment to realize why he was even to saying it.

"Noah, out of everything that happened tonight, that boy using those words was the least of my concerns," she finally sighed. "That didn't even register – beyond me thinking he was just trying to be crueler."

"Well, I'm not," Noah clarified more forcibly.

She watched him. He was fidgeting and leaned forward and put his now empty plate on the table.

"OK," she said, "and you should also know that I don't care if you are."

"I'm not," Noah said louder and glared at her briefly, before going back to looking at the television. His knee started bouncing up and down in the same nervous way as her husband.

She nodded. "OK," she said again quietly.

She had never actually had reason to suspect her son might be gay. To her, there hadn't been any reason to think he was. His interests, his mannerisms, his talents, his hobbies – they all seemed pretty masculine to her. Though, she supposed that wasn't necessarily a determining factor. Masculine men could still be gay. But mothers know their children and she felt she knew her child even better than most with all they'd been through. She didn't believe her son was gay.

She honestly wouldn't care if he was, though, beyond him having to deal with the bigots in society. She wouldn't wish that onto him. He'd already dealt with so much in his life to have to endure another uphill battle seemed cruel.

Still, she hated that her son had felt the need to clarify that for her. She suspected it meant that other kids had decided he was gay and where using words and actions to make him feel badly about it. Her concerns that he was being bully had been growing with some of the little comments he'd been making in her continued conversations in the fall-out of his stunt. But that night had made startlingly clear that it wasn't just a possibility – some kid did appear to at least have something against him and she really didn't have the impression it was an isolated incident.

She was already thinking over the past weeks and months trying to think of any signs she'd missed that her son may be a victim of bullying. She hated that she missed that. Noah was just shy, reserved, introverted. He had never made friends that easily and he still didn't now. She kept hoping that maybe he'd get to try again in high school and he'd come out of his shell more if he was placed in a school that more accurately catered to his abilities and skills. But she now was fearing in her waiting and hoping, maybe she had been assuming too much about what was just his norm and not seeing what was truly happening for him at school. It made her really angry with herself – that she hadn't been taking care of him and protecting him. It made her angry at the school that they wouldn't have noticed and brought it to her attention and been working to resolve the problem. They were supposed to be a zero-tolerance to bullying facility.

"Are kids saying things at school?" she tried to press.

Noah shrugged.

She rubbed at her eyebrow and looked at him hard.

"Noah, why did that boy start pushing you tonight?"

He just shook his head.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to find out eventually. I'd really prefer to hear it from you – here, at home."

He shook his head harder.

She sighed and sat back in the couch – though she kept her eyes on him and let him have the silence.

"I can't go to school," he finally said at a near whisper.

"We'll see how you're doing in the morning," she told him. She was already planning to let him stay home, though. He was still hardly moving and was hobbling as he walked when he did. Not to mention, he still had a cold pack sitting in his crotch and wasn't acting like he wanted to take it off that area. That likely counted for something, she figured. She'd let him get a day's rest and hope that the swelling would go down with lack of activity and time laying in front of the television on the couch.

"Not just tomorrow – not ever," he said and threw himself hard into the pillows behind him and crossed his arms tight across his chest.

"Well that's not really an option, sweets," she told him. "You can't just run away from your problems."

He glared straight ahead and offered no response.

"There's only a few months left of the year," she offered. "Soon it will be summer and then in the fall you'll have a fresh start at high school."

"A few months is forever," he mumbled, "and it won't make any difference at high school. It will be the same."

"What will be the same, Noah?"

But he just bounced his knee harder and didn't answer.

"If you tell me what is going on at school, I can try to help make it better for you," she tried.

"I'm not a kid, Mom," he spat at her. "I don't want you going into my school all the time."

She looked at him. "Noah, you may not be a little boy anymore – but you're still a kid and you're going to be until you're 18. You're still my child and I'm still your mother – and it's not going to matter how old you are or how grown-up you think you are, you are always going to be my kid. Even when you're married and have kids of your own – you're still my kid. It's just the way it works."

He briefly made eye contact with her – and she wanted so much to hug him and for him to just open up to her and tell her what the hell was going on. But she knew if she so much as touched him right now he was going to recoil even more.

"Did you talk to your dad about what's going on?" She tried instead.

"No," Noah spat out. "He'd just tell you."

She sighed. "Will you? Noah, you've got to talk to us. Clearly something is happening – that is bigger than just something you can handle on your own. That's what parents are for. It's our responsibility to help you through whatever this is."

He made no comment.

"I told the officers that we want to lay charges," she said.

"You do, I don't," her son responded.

She nodded. "I know – but I think if we were able to have a real conversation about this, we could come to an agreement that what happened tonight is not acceptable."

"You're just going to make things worse," he said quietly.

"What am I making worse, Noah?"

"Everything," he said angrily.

"Noah, please, talk to me," she felt like she was begging – because she really was at that point. She didn't know what more she could say to her son to get him to open up to her. But the silence again hung between them.

"Can you tell me if that happened tonight is at all related to what happened with your essay and your suspension – your problem in your history class?"

"I want to go to bed now," he said – staring straight ahead.

She sighed. She wanted to tell him, no, that he wasn't allowed, that he couldn't until he told her exactly what the hell was going on. But instead she nodded.

"OK, sweets. I'll get you a fresh cold pack from the freezer. Take that one off for a bit while you get changed and brush your teeth. You shouldn't leave it on so long at a time."

He tossed the pack from his crotch on the couch cushion between them and pushed himself up from the couch, wincing. He was near cupping himself as he started to make his way down the hall.

"Come get it when you're ready, Noah," she said, "and to say good night."


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

She rapped her knuckles on his bedroom door and waited for some sort of answer.

After Noah had realized that she was taking a personal day to stay home with him, he'd opted out of sitting on the couch and watching television for the day. Rather than retreat down to his lair in the basement, where she could just enter whenever she wanted without any kind of announcement, other than him hearing her coming down the couple steps, he'd returned to his bedroom and shut the door. The whole situation had her wondering why she'd even bothered to take the day – but her son hadn't seemed to have improved much over night and she didn't want to leave him alone.

She was starting to think that he wasn't going to answer – that maybe he was sleeping, which she kind of thought would be a good idea, or maybe he had his headphones on and hadn't even heard her knock. But finally he mumbled a "Yeah", and she took it as an invitation to open the door. She opened it slowly – giving him a chance to scream at her if she actually had only been supposed to talk to him through the door. But no objection came and she finally got to take a look at him.

The room was a complete disaster. She hated when he let it get like that – but she tried to maintain that it was his space and he could do with it as he pleased. Still the clothes all over the floor and the blankets in a giant wadded ball at the bottom of the bed made her a little angry.

His posters of sports heroes had mostly been replaced by ones of defiant looking punk bands that she'd barely heard of, and morbid interpretations of some of his favourite comic characters. She had never realized that Batman was such a dark character until Noah got a bit older and graduated into the more grotesque versions of the comics. If the grimness of Batman wasn't enough, he seemed to have a particular liking for some of the villains from the books – or at least the graphical interpretations of them and they glared down at her from nearly every bit of wall space in the room, which he nearly never turned the overhead lights on in anymore. He kept the blinds closed too and really just switched on the light beside his bed to read or depended on the glow from his computer at his desk.

His bookshelves were a mess too. Nothing was put back properly – instead it had just become more space to stack things. More of his action figures, baseballs, piles of coins, little model creations he'd made and some of his toiletries lined the shelves than actual books. He had hi books in giant piles sitting on his bedside table and the floor under his window – rising to about the windowsill.

His closet door was thrown open and she could see that more clothes were in a pile on the floor inside of it than there were on hangers. She really wished he'd put a little more effort into keeping his room a little more organized.

Noah was sitting at this desk, though, which he managed to keep looking rather neat compared to the rest of the room. At least sometimes. There were still scattered papers and pencil crayons, drawing pencils, modeling clay, scalpels, glue and other art supplies not put away and piled on the little shelve above his head. Papers containing pieces of incomplete art were in one pile while on the opposite side of the desk was a stack of a couple textbooks and notebooks and some printed-out pages from research he had been doing. But at least it looked like there was some sort of organization to the mess.

He had his music going at a level so low she could just barely hear it and he seemed almost oblivious to her having come into the room – his back slightly to her with where he was sitting off in the corner. He didn't look at her or acknowledge her.

Olivia walked over to his desk and looked over his shoulder to see what he was up to that had him so absorbed. It wasn't schoolwork. She should've been able to obtain that much just based on his posture over there. Instead he was scribbling away working on one of his comic books. It looked like nearly a full-page panel he was shading in with one of his dark pencils. He had that look of concentration on his face that at times concerned her that her son could become that focused and lost in his thoughts. It was just so intense for someone so young – but she saw it in him a lot.

Noah loved his drawing. He could spend endless hours doing it. Sometimes she wondered where it came from. It was clear to her from a young age that Noah had an interest in art and she'd nurtured it – partially because it was so much fun to do with him and to just see how his mind and imagination worked. It had quickly become clear, though, that it wasn't just something that he had fun doing, he did have a talent. Her son was incredibly visual and was able to construct the things he saw in his head in ways that she couldn't even imagine being able to do. He made it seem almost effortless – whether it was drawing, clay, Lego, or any other art or construction supply that was set in front of him.

She wondered if that was a gift he'd somehow picked up genetically from her – there was so much she didn't know about where she came from, or if maybe Kurt had come from a family of artists. She supposed it didn't really matter, even though she found it fascinating. Either way, though, however it had happened, or whomever he'd inherited from, her boy had a gift.

If Noah wasn't drawing, he was almost playing Tim Burton and sculpting little figures and designing small sets all out of modeling material and clay. He'd then shoot little frame-by-frame pictures of his claymation and spend even more time on the computer editing together his little movies, which eventually he'd almost always let her and Will watch. A lot of the characters he'd created for his comic series made appearances as three-dimensional little clay models in his movies. Some of the comics and movies were almost rib-breakingly funny but a lot where just heartbreaking and a little dark. That sometimes made her a little sad too. At times it seemed like her son carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

She'd been told it was normal for childhood cancer survivors to suffer from depression – or worse from post-traumatic stress. She'd tried to get Noah help for both in a way that wouldn't leave him feeling like he was some how more screwed up than he already seemed to feel he was, in a way that wouldn't make him angrier about having to have endured cancer. But he resented having to go to a counselor and he seemed to hate the group therapy they'd tried. She really wasn't sure either had helped him much - or he'd even participated much. Especially now. A counselor should've picked up on some of these problems and brought them to her attention.

"You're so talented," she told Noah quietly as she watched him work. But he made a loud sigh and lifted his pencil from the page – stopping his work.

"What do you want?" He demanded, still not looking at her.

"I'm just checking on you," she told him, touching his shoulder but he jerked away. She didn't push it. "You've been in here about three hours. It's almost lunch."

He just shrugged and stated, "I'm fine."

She nodded and went and sat at the foot of his bed, grasping her hands between her knees and watching his back again. He seemed to feel her movement away from him was enough to allow him to return to his artwork and his hand started moving again. She sat quietly for several minutes just watching his movements from behind.

She looked at the floor and sighed. "Sweets," she said quietly and glanced up a bit seeking out any sort of reaction from him – but there was none. "I know you don't like me very much right now – but I just really want you to know that I'm here for you."

There still wasn't any reaction from him – no acknowledgement she'd spoken at all. She rubbed at her eyebrow. She'd been thinking a lot about what she wanted to say to him and how to get it out in a way that wouldn't send him spiraling away from her.

"Noah," she tried again. "I know you aren't a little boy anymore – and I know you're at the age where you don't want much to do with your mom. I know that's just part of growing up and you're a teenager now – that you're learning more about who you are and you want space to be able to do that, you want your independence. I know, sweetheart. I know you think I don't understand – but I've been there too. But as your mom, it's still a little hard for me to completely let go of my little boy and to let you grow up. As your mom too, I have a responsibility to be here and to still have rules and to help you through your teens, Noah, because you aren't all grown up yet. You've got lots of challenges coming up – girls, high school, parties, sex, drugs, drinking, college applications.

"You get to make your own mistakes and your own choices – but as your parent, I get to make sure you're equipped to deal with those things and if you do something stupid, Noah, I get to tell you. And if you get hurt or you need help, you're allowed to tell me too. I may not like all your choices. I may even end up being very disappointed in some of your choices and wish that you knew better or wish that I'd taught you better. But no matter what happens, what choices you make – good and bad – you are still going to be my son and I will always love you. Always."

Still no response. She sighed.

"When I was your age – I hated my mom. I really, really hated my mom. I couldn't wait until I was going to be old enough to get the hell out of her house and to get away from her and to have my own life. I don't want our relationship to be like that," she said. "I really miss getting to have a relationship with you, Noah. I can't always be your friend – I am your mother and I have to be your mother. But we can still have fun together. We can still talk. I miss getting to have that with you lately – and having to wait until you're done with your teens for us to get to have that back, it sure seems like a long time to me. I don't want us to have to wait that long, do you?"

"I thought your mom sucked," he finally said quietly after a long silence between them.

She took it. Anything out of him at that point was something.

"Well, she had her problems, but we all do," she said. "No one's perfect. I know I'm not perfect and I'm not a perfect mom either, Noah. I know I've made lots of mistakes but I really do try hard for you."

"You're OK," he allowed again quietly.

She let herself have a small smile at that and watched his back again for a few moments.

"Noah, you not talking to me about what's going on right now – it hurts, sweetheart. Right now I have all sorts of alarm bells and awful things going through my head about what you're dealing with. I feel like I missed something. That you are hurting and I didn't see it and didn't react. That I didn't get you the help you needed. It's making me feel like an awful mother and it's making me really scared for you.

"I just really need you to know that I'm here for you – whatever it is – and I want to help. Sweets, it's my job as your mother to help and to try to make this a bit easier for you, even if I can't fix it. I hope I can fix it – but I can at least try to help. If you'll let me. You just need to talk to me."

She got no response.

"If you feel like you can't talk to me about it – I really, really hope you will talk to Dad about it when he gets home on the weekend," she said.

"He doesn't care. He doesn't even talk to me," Noah said angrily.

She sighed. "Noah, Will does care. He cares so much. He loves you so much. He'd do anything for you. He really would. You know that. He just struggles with trying to talk to you on the telephone. You're very stand-off-ish with him on the phone, sweetheart. He just doesn't like the attitude. Neither of us do. You haven't been very nice to us lately. You've been pretty disrespectful. Dad finds that really frustrating."

She watched him. "Noah, I should've seen your mood changes, your attitude as more than just you being a teenager, more than just puberty and mood swings, more than just you being worried about finishing middle school and starting high school and all the applications. I'm sorry I didn't see that. Dad is too. You need to talk to us. He is going to want to sit down with you when he gets home. Will you talk to him?"

Her son just shrugged.

She sighed.

"OK," she said quietly. "I won't say anything more about it today, sweets, but this isn't going away."

She watched his back again for a bit.

"I wanted to see if you feel up to walking to the theatre," she offered. "We could see a movie, go into Artie's for lunch. I'll even buy you an Icee for your crotch if you want. Your pick on the flick."

He gave her a small glance at that offer.

"I thought I'm grounded," he said.

She shrugged. "You are. But this is a sick day. We haven't gone to a show in a long time. I don't get days off that often. I should do something with the time since you aren't letting me play nursemaid for you."

"Taking me to a movie won't make me talk to you," Noah warned her.

"I know, sweets," she nodded. "I'd just like to spend some time with you."

He thought about it. "Can we stop at the book store too?" He finally asked at a near whisper.

"We can," she confirmed. "You looking for something there?"

He shrugged. She knew it could be either way – he was looking for something specific or he just wanted to look. Noah could blow a whole afternoon in a book store. She didn't really mind. She was happy to buy a book or magazine and go sit in the coffee shop while he looked around for hours on end. He always ended up leaving with something. She supposed she should be thankful that he spent a lot of his allowance on books and comics and art supplies and not candy, pop and pizza slices – or God knows what else at school.

"OK," she said, standing from the bed. "It sounds like we've got an afternoon planned. So why don't you clean yourself up a bit and take some more painkillers and we'll head out in about 15?"

He gave a little nod from his desk and she started to head for the door.

"I love you Mom," he said softly as she was almost out the door.

She looked at him. He still had his back to her. "I know, sweets. I love you too. Lots." She tapped her fingers on the doorframe and started to pull the door shut for him to have a bit of privacy while he got cleaned up.

"Mom?" He said quietly again.

"Yeah, Noah?" she said.

"How come you don't hug me anymore?"

She pushed the door open and looked at him. "Sweetheart, you pull away whenever I touch you."

He gave a little nod of acknowledgement.

"Would you like a hug, Noah?"

He gave another small nod.

She opened the door fully and stepped back into the room.

"So stand up and come and get one," she told him. "I can't hug you with you sitting over there with your back to me."

He glanced at her and met her eyes for the first time in the whole conversation. He seemed to think about it for a long time but he finally got up and trudged over to her. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and stroked his head after he rested it against her shoulder, where he barely reached with his stunted stature. She placed a small kiss against the side of his head and he let her.

"You can have a hug whenever you want, Noah," she said quietly. "I thought maybe I wasn't supposed to hug you anymore. I don't know the rules with boys. I don't know your rules. I'm learning as I go too, sweets."

She felt him give a small nod but he still wasn't letting go of her. So she rubbed his back and placed another kiss on his head.

"It's OK, sweetheart, whatever it is, it's going to be OK – and I'm not going anywhere. OK?"

He nodded silently again and his arms loosened from her back a bit. So she pulled him away from her a bit and examined his face. He looked so sad and he avoided meeting her eyes. She pushed some of his mess of hair away from his forehead and gave him a small smile.

"OK, sweets, get ready," she told him. "I'm going to go and do the same."


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

It was just a further sign that something was grating at her son. She'd taken him to about his favourite deli – at least in their neighbourhood – and he'd hardly taken a bite out of the giant Rueben that had been put in front of him.

"Sweets, your lunch is getting cold," she tried. She always had to urge him to eat anyways. "At least eat some of the fries or coleslaw, please, if you aren't going to eat the sandwich."

He glanced at her and shrugged.

She shook her head. "None of that, Noah. I'm taking you out for lunch – you're going to at least try to eat some of it."

He sighed and put a fry in his mouth. She watched him slowly chew at it and gathered some of omelet on her own fork. She could really take-or-leave the food at the place. She ate enough greasy-spoons, cop diners and delis over the years. They all really started to taste the same after a while.

"If you finish up half that sandwich and the coleslaw, you can pick a dessert to share," she tried.

He looked up at her. "That's a bribe," he said flatly.

"You've hardly eaten the last three days, Noah," she told him. "If a bribe is what you need – I'm bribing you."

He chewed on another fry. "You never eat the dessert I pick anyways," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"Because you always pick cheesecake," she said and pointed her fork at him. "It's too sweet. And, it just means more for you anyways."

He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes at him. At least he was almost speaking to her. That was a slight improvement compared to the past several days. She worked on a bit more of her meal, eating slowly, because Noah certainly didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry.

"I don't think I want to play baseball this season," he said quietly after a while and after she'd broken the eye contact.

She glanced up at him and sighed. "Well, sweetheart, I talked to your coach this morning and the administration office – and I really think you should at least go out to the next practice and maybe the next game, before you make that decision."

Noah shook his head. "I don't want to play."

She took a deep breath. "I understand where this is coming from, Noah. But I'm going to ask that you take a few more days to think about it – and to calm down about what happened – and then we can talk about it some more."

"I don't need a few more days," he said quietly and examined the table.

She rubbed her eyebrow. "It's your decision, Noah. But dropping out this season could have implications for later seasons, if you decide you want to play again. And, I thought you were planning on trying out for the high school team? Having a year in the tournament league will likely help you a lot there too."

He shrugged.

"We'll talk about it on Sunday night," she said, "after you've calmed down and had some time to think about it all a bit more clearly. After Dad is home."

Noah made a little sound and jammed another fry in his mouth. She watched him some more – but he was back to just examining the heaping plate in front of him and chewing about as slowly as possible.

"What's … mean?" she asked, imitating his sound.

"Maybe I don't want to play baseball in high school or go to HSMSE," Noah said with a definite edge to his voice. "Maybe I just want to go to a normal high school – and just do something normal."

She watched him and shrugged. "OK. Like what?" she asked and looked back to her meal, trying to be as casual about this new bomb of information as possible.

"I don't know. Maybe I want to be a cop too or something."

She gave a little snort of a laugh and offered him a small smile.

"Why's that funny?" he demanded.

She put down her fork and rubbed at her eyebrow, examining the table for a moment pulling together her response before meeting his demanding eyes.

"Because you haven't told me you had any interest in being a police officer when you grew up since you were about four years old, Noah."

"So?" he spat. "Maybe I do now."

She shrugged. "That's fine, sweetheart. If that's what you think you want to do, I'll support you in that. You have a lot of other interests and talents that I think you should consider exploring – but if you think being a cop will make you happy – that's all I want for you."

"What's that even mean?" he said.

She sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Noah, you're so smart and you're so talented with your drawing and your art and your films and animation. Just … don't sell yourself short … especially, if you're making these sudden and big decisions because of whatever is going on right now."

"Aren't you kind of insulting yourself by saying any of that?" he said and drilled his eyes into her.

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "I don't think so. I love my job, Noah. It's what I decided I wanted to do – and there are lots of reasons that I am still doing it. But it's never been something I have wanted for you. There are reasons I don't talk about my work at home."

"Because you deal with perverts all day," he spat like he was more disgusted with her then he was the perps.

She rubbed at her eyebrow. "Because I deal with a lot of really heartbreakingly, sad situations and with people who do things that I don't ever want you to have to think about."

"So why would you want to spend your life doing that?"

"Because I like helping people, Noah. The victims deserve help. And, the people who do the things to them – I want them off the street so they are no where near you, or any other children."

"It's a stupid job," he said and looked back at his plate.

She watched the top of his head. "I know you don't mean that, sweetheart," she told him.

"Why do you always have to call me that?" he mumbled at her.

She gave a small snort. "Habit, Noah."

"Well I don't like it," he said.

She sighed. "OK. I'll try harder to stop calling you that. But you've been my sweets since the day you were born, Noah. It's not just a switch I can flick like that. It's who you are to me."

He gave her a dirty look.

She shook her head and looked back at her plate. Some days she still wished she could've kept Noah at about four. He'd been fun at four. She supposed 11 hadn't been a bad age with him either. She wasn't liking 13 and she really doubted she was going to like the next four years as she had to parent him through high school. She really wondered how hard he could push away from her. He seemed to doing his best to make sure his feet were firmly planted against her chest and he was pushing now. And, some days, it just really fucking hurt.

"So where do you think you want to go to high school if you don't want to go to HSMSE anymore?" she asked, still trying to be casual, but also trying to change the topic. "Are you thinking you'd just like to go to West Side?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Will's going to make me go to HSMSE if I get in."

She shook her head. "That is absolutely not true. It's your choice – not Will's, and we will support whatever decision you make, Noah. We both just want you to be happy."

He glanced at her. "I think maybe I want to go to the art school," he said so quietly she wasn't entirely sure he'd even known he said it aloud. "If I get in…"

She smiled at him and put down her fork again, giving him her full attention. "LaGuardia or Art and Design?"

"Art and Design," he said and picked up another fry, not looking at her.

She smiled wider. "That's fantastic, Noah," she told him honestly.

"Will's not going to like it," Noah said between chews on the fry, still keeping his eyes downcast.

"Dad will be fine," she assured him. "We were all really impressed with the programming there, Noah. I think it's perfect for you – and it will give you a solid foundation in your maths and sciences too, for if you decide you want to lean more that way when you go to university."

"If I go to university," he said quietly.

She watched him. "OK. If you go to university. That's a long time from now anyways. We don't need to worry about that yet."

"I probably won't even get in," he said.

"You'll get in," she told him.

"Don't say that Mom," he spat at her and made eye contact briefly. "Like 1,500 kids apply and there's only like 200 spots and that's for all the programs there's even less for the Commercial Design program."

"Sweetheart," she said but he glared at her. "Noah," she corrected herself. "Your portfolio was fantastic. You do your comics and your movies. And your grades are so good. You're so talented. You're going to get in. You need to believe in yourself more – especially if this is the kind of field you think you might be wanting to go into. You need to have self-confidence."

He shrugged, which just caused her to let out a small sigh and shake her head at him again. Noah had never really excelled in self-confidence when he was around other kids. She blamed it partially on the cancer and him starting school in the midst of it all. The kids hadn't understood and he didn't know how to relate to them. And then add in the time he missed, his stunted growth and his introverted personality. He just didn't excel at thinking he was the alpha dog on the block. She tried to instill in him that he was just as good as anyone else – if not better, in some of the areas he was particularly talented in. But as he was hitting his teens he seemed to believe her less and less and only feel like she was patronizing him. It made him angry. She wished it was easier for him. She suspected part of whatever was going on now – or at least the blatant bullying she'd witnessed – was related to his apparent inability to stand-up for himself. Sometimes she felt like he didn't think he was worth it. That hurt her too. She son was more than worth it. He was precious.

"Why do you think I'm so good at drawing?" he asked, though.

She looked at him and shrugged. "I don't know, Noah. Because it's your gift."

"Well I must've gotten it from somewhere," he said.

She smiled a bit to herself and gave a small, silent laugh. "Maybe. Not from me."

"Maybe my Dad," he suggested.

She was still thinking about the concept of him getting into the high school and getting to do the cartooning and comic book art program, getting to learn more about film-making and animation. It could be exactly what her son needed. Maybe he'd meet some like-minded people, finally make some real friends. She was excited by the concept.

She'd been excited by the school when they'd gone to the open house but Noah had said almost nothing about it since his audition day. It made her think something had gone horribly wrong in the audition while he presented his work that he'd taken hours upon hours deciding what to include in his portfolio, or that he'd been extremely unhappy with whatever he'd had to produce during the drawing test or he hadn't known how to answer some of the interview questions. She didn't know what had happened, though. He had offered not explanation about it and soon after it he'd started taking more like he was set on going to HSMSE. So she'd dropped it and focused on what he was focused on and on supporting him in that.

So as she churned over all these new potential possibilities for her son, she supposed she didn't really hear his statement. And she'd just shrugged.

"Maybe. Dad used to help you with your drawing a lot when you were little. You'd sit there giving him all sorts of direction until he got it 'right'. He's pretty good. Not nearly as talented as you, though. He does have his talent with music, though. So I guess there's a bit of an artsy streak in him."

She had been picking at her plate and picking at her food as she gave the response, still lost in thought, and still with a bit of a grin on her face. But when Noah hadn't said anything more, she'd glanced up at him, as she put a bit more of the eggs into her mouth.

"I didn't mean Will," he said. "I meant my real dad."

She looked at him and felt like she nearly had to force herself to swallow her food and not gag on it. She put down her fork and rubbed at her eyebrow. She had no idea what to say. She wasn't prepared for this conversation and now rather than her excitement at her son potentially getting to start chasing his dreams – the first positive thing she'd heard out of him in days, if not more like weeks – she was instead desperately trying to decide how to navigate this minefield he'd just thrown them into.

"Was he good at art?" Noah asked quietly, still looking at her with his brown-eyes. Some times she found it a little disconcerting how much she saw her eyes in him and how when he gave her those looks – it was her eyes looking right back at her.

She sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment but then shrugged. "I don't really know, Noah."

He gave her a questioning look. "What do you mean you don't know?"

She sighed again. She'd always told herself that she'd been as honest as age-appropriately possible with Noah about his father. But the reality was she really hadn't had to yet. She couldn't even think of the last time Noah had asked anything specific about Kurt. He never really ever had. There'd been a few passing comments when he was littler. He knew Will wasn't his biological father – but Will had always been Daddy and for the most part that had always seemed like enough. Will was all Noah knew, all Noah could remember. She'd thought Noah might have more questions at some point in his teens. But she wasn't really expecting it now. She thought it might be more of an end of high school thing.

"Well, I guess I never saw any indications that he was particularly artistic," she allowed.

Noah examined her. "So he didn't draw?"

She shrugged. "Not that I ever saw."

"Did he like comics?"

She shrugged. "I really don't think comics were his thing, sweets. You got comics from your Dad. Not your father."

She'd picked her words carefully. She'd always tried to be clear with Noah that Will was his Dad. Being a Dad is a decision. Anyone can be a father – that's a one-time act. Stepping up and being a Daddy is much more involved and complicated then that. Will was Noah's Dad and he'd be his only Dad.

"Did he like movies?"

She shrugged. "I suppose most people like movies."

"But did he like filming things?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Not that I saw."

"Did he talk about art, at least?"

"Not with me. But he did have some art in his home."

"So he collected art?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Noah gave her another look. "It sounds like you don't know anything about him." The tone of his voice was almost accusing.

She sighed. "I guess I don't. Not those kinds of things, Noah."

"How can you not know anything about him when you had a baby with him?" Noah spat out.

She sat back in the booth and looked at him. "I didn't have a baby with him. I had the baby. I had you. He wasn't there, sweetheart. We've talked about this."

"It's stupid that you just slept with someone you didn't even know anything about," he shot back at her.

She shrugged. "Maybe. But we were in a relationship, Noah. Sex tends to happen in relationships. Sex leads to babies. Maybe it was stupid. But I guess if I hadn't been stupid, there'd be no you, would there?"

"So you had sex with someone you didn't know and you didn't use condoms. You're such a hypocrite."

She looked at him hard. "You will watch how you talk to me, Noah. I'm still your mother, no matter how you feel about me on a particular day."

He shook his head at her. "You're always preaching such bullshit and you don't even …"

She pounded her hand on the table. "Watch your language, Noah," she told him. "And, yes, when you start having sex – you should use a condom – ALWAYS. But condoms are not 100 per cent effective, Noah, and you're living proof of that. OK?"

"What does that mean?" he spat out.

"All it means was that you were an unplanned pregnancy, Noah."

"What's that mean?"

She shook her head at him. "That I wasn't trying to get pregnant at the time."

"You were having sex!" he spat again.

She sighed. "OK. I wasn't planning to get pregnant at the time."

"So you're saying I was a mistake?" he sputtered out.

She recoiled and grabbed for his hand across the table. "No, Noah. That's not what I meant." She sighed and he yanked his hand away from her. "Noah … you weren't a mistake. At all. You were a gift. OK? You are a gift to me. And there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not happy that I had you. Even on the days you really, really piss me off – which seem to happen pretty frequently anymore – I am still so grateful to have you as my son. It really hurts me to think that you'd question that. Because there was never a doubt in my mind that I was going to have you. I was so happy and excited when I found out I was pregnant with you. I have never, ever thought of you as a mistake."

"But he did?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "Sweetheart, maybe we should talk about this at home – not here, in Artie's?"

He shook his head. "He didn't want me? He thought I was a mistake?"

She looked at the table for a moment before meeting his eyes again. They looked so sad.

"Noah, we didn't have a big discussion about it. He never said that, though. He just … wasn't ready to be a dad."

Noah was quiet and looked like he was processing that. She reached for his hand again and he at least let her take it momentarily.

"I know what it's like to grow up without a dad, Noah. I didn't want that for you. And, when I met Will … he's a really great Dad, Noah. He's all the things I wish I could've had in a Daddy. That's really important – being the Dad. It's more important than the biology, I think."

"Did he ever see me?"

She nodded. "He visited you three times. But you were really little, Noah. You wouldn't remember – and he didn't stay long ever."

"He didn't like me?"

She gave a little smile. "Noah, everyone who really knows you loves you. He didn't know you."

"How come he didn't want to be a dad?"

She shrugged. "He thought he had more important things going on in his life. He was angry with me."

"He was angry with you because you had me?"

She nodded. "A little, I think. But that wasn't his choice – it was mine, and I really, really, really wanted you. I wanted to be a mom so bad."

He gave her a funny look. "Why?"

"So I could have a snotty 13-year-old kid mouthing back at me all the time and not telling me what's really wrong," she told him.

He gave her a silly look and made a small sound and looked at the table.

He was quiet a moment, though. "What were the more important things in his life?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, Noah. Family is pretty important. It's the most important thing. He just hadn't learned that yet, I guess."

He considered her. "Did he live here?"

She nodded and rubbed at her eyebrow – really wishing the conversation would stop.

"Do you know if he still does?"

She shrugged. "I think so," she lied. She knew so. Kurt's precious career had continued to rise. Unfortunately she couldn't avoid Kurt just by avoiding the Ledger anymore. He was much more prominently in her face than that. But Noah didn't need to know that.

"What'd he do?"

She sighed and shook her head.

"You don't know that either?" Noah asked and gave her another look.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not telling you what he does."

He gave her another look. "Why not?"

"Because now you're fishing for identifying information – and if that's a conversation we're going to have, it's one that your Dad gets to be included in."

"Why?"

"Because he's your Dad and he loves you – and he'll have thoughts and opinions on all of this too."

"Does Dad know who he is?"

"Yes, sweets, he does. Your Dad knows a lot about me. We don't keep secrets from each other."

"But you keep secrets from me?"

She sighed and shook her head. "It's not a secret, Noah. It's just a discussion that I think Dad should get to be involved in. So we'll have to continue it in a couple days, if that's what you want."


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

She smiled as he finally walked out into the baggage claim and held up a hand to attract his attention. He didn't know she was coming and she knew he wouldn't be looking for her. He wasn't looking at all at the waiting family members and chauffeurs in the area, though, so she started walking towads him, in the hopes of attracting his attention that way.

"Will," she finally said as she got closer to him and within earshot. He didn't seem to hear or at least didn't register the first time his name came out of her mouth, so she tried again. "Will," she called a bit more loudly, and he finally glanced over his shoulder, and his face lit up.

"Hey," he smiled, stopping, and instantly accepting her hug. It was a little hard to get her arms around him with all his stupid bags draped over him. But she didn't much care. She needed to feel his arms around her so badly at that point.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he mumbled against the side of her head. "I missed you."

"Mmm," she agreed. "Me too."

She didn't want to let go. She didn't care they were standing in the middle of the airport and likely kind of blocking the path of other people trying to just get their luggage, gather their families and get out of there.

"You took so long, I was starting to think you'd decided not to get on the plane."

He rubbed her back and put a small kiss on her temple. "Customs was all backed up. It took forever to get through the line."

"Mmm," was all she allowed to that again, as she finally loosened her arms and let him go.

He smiled at her some more and brushed a piece of hair away from her face for her.

"You're looking tanned. Did you run away on holiday or something?" he teased.

She'd spent more time then she should've on the phone with him about the shit-storm at home and had been sending numerous texts and emails during the week to prepare him for the teenaged wasteland he was getting to return to.

She snorted and looked down. "Well, when I did manage to actually get to do my job this week, I got to spend a whole lot of time canvassing."

"Mmm," he nodded and seemed to just admire her face some more. "Spring sun."

He glanced around then though. "So what's the deal?" he asked. "No Chief Thundercloud? Or he off sulking in a corner?"

She smiled. "No. I left him unsupervised. I needed a break from warden duty."

Will gave a small laugh and shook his head at her, before rubbing his hand down her bicep and giving in a small squeeze. "Still not giving you anything?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Just attitude."

He snorted and put his forehead against hers for a brief moment. "Think we can sell him?"

She allowed a little laugh. "Who'd buy him?"

"He used to be cute."

She sighed. "I know," she said with a bit too much regret in her voice. God, she wanted her little boy back. The concept of having to go through four years of this to only be told he was then an adult and ready to truly be released out on the world on his own seemed a little too heartbreaking.

She shook her head. "I don't know what's going on with him, Will. He won't tell me. Still. And now this Kurt stuff. I don't know what to do. I can't force him to talk to me."

He gave her another small smile, as they started to make their way towards the doors. "You make people talk all the time."

She elbowed him a little. "It's like he knows all my tricks or something," she suggested, and grabbed his computer bag off his one shoulder for him to carry.

"Nah, you've always got something up your sleeve, detective," he told her.

She just made a sound and shook her head some more.

"We'll talk about it, Liv," he told her. "I'm home now. We'll figure it out."

She gave his hand a small squeeze. "You aren't allowed to go on another conference until he's done high school."

He laughed out loud and looked at her. "You know, you could always come with me and escape?"

"Right. I'll just take some time off work and we'll inflict him on Mom for a few days next time."

"That sounds like a cage match, I'd pay to see," he said.

"Your Mom would win," she told him seriously. "Lots of practice with teenaged boys."

He laughed again. "That's likely why I'd pay to see it. She'd have him crying in a corner in 30 seconds."

He started to head towards the transit stop and she gave a little pull on his arm. "Let's take the taxi," she suggested. "I took the Metro out here."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah? You sure? I'm OK with the bags."

She nodded. "Yeah. Let's get a cab."

He gave her a shrug. "OK," he allowed and followed her out to the queue.

"I don't know if he'll talk to you," she told him after they had settled into the line.

Will looked at her. "He'll talk to me, Liv."

She shrugged. "I don't know he will. He won't talk to me."

"You're his mom," he told her.

She looked at him. "You're his dad."

"His super cool dad," Will added.

She snorted at that. "I don't know. I've told him a few times he needs to talk to you when you get home and he wasn't that amicable to that idea. And you guys … on the phone."

Will rolled his eyes. "Whatever. He's a little fuck on the phone, Olivia. It's easier to put him in his place when I can give him the look."

She snorted and shook her head at him. "Well, I've tried the look."

"My look is better than your look."

She laughed and hit him softly in the middle of the chest. "It is not. I've got years of practice refining that look in the interrogation room."

He gave her a smile. "Well, personally, I think your look is pretty terrifying. Ball shrinking, actually. But you aren't my mom."

"It should be extra terrifying to him," she nodded at Will.

He smiled. "Hmm, I don't know about that."

"What are we going to do about his asking about Kurt?"

Will shrugged. "We'll talk about it. We'll figure it out. I don't think we're going to figure it out from the airport to the house, Liv."

"We could try?" she suggested hopefully.

He gripped her hand. "We will. But I think you should tell me more about what the hell went on at school with him this week and at the ball field. I think we need to get that sorted before this Kurt crap. Don't let him derail us from the real issue here."

She sighed and examined the concrete. "I'm terrified about what the hell is going on there too."

He rubbed his thumb down the back of her hand. "Hopefully it's just teenaged drama."

She shrugged. "Doesn't teenaged drama involve some kid sacking you and calling you a faggot repeatedly?"

He put another kiss on the side of her head. "I don't know, Liv. But I guess given other possible scenarios, I kind of hope so."


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: Love You Forever**

**Author: ZombieJazz**

**Fandom: Law & Order: SVU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. Law and Order SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf. The characters of Will (and his family) and Noah have been created and developed for the sake of this AU series.**

**Summary: Olivia's continued adventures in motherhood - as she balances raising her son with her career. This story is set in my AU series. It would take place several years after Undeserved.**

**Author's Notes: This AU series is for SVU fans and readers who want Olivia to have something that resembles a more normal life outside of work and a family of her own - hopefully somewhat realistically within the canon of SVU. The timeframe would have it outside of the TV series' current timeline and would likely have Olivia into her early 50s. My stories are not EO and never will be. You may want to read some of my other ones for context on the characters in this AU first - though, it's likely fairly self-explanatory on its own too.**

**WARNING: THIS STORY MIGHT KIND OF BE A SPOILER FOR READERS OF UNDESERVED.**

"OK," Will announced loudly, heading into Noah's room, switching on the overhead light and heading straight for the blinds that the kid nearly never bothered to open.

"Time to get up," he said just as loudly as the blinds clattered up and natural light started streaming into the room.

Noah groaned in the bed, where he was laying on his stomach and sprawled in every which direction – hardly a change from when he was a little boy. But he didn't offer any response and just pulled the duvet over his head.

Will sat down at the corner of the bed and yanked the blanket down off his head, despite Noah reaching back for it again.

"Hey," Will said, and shook the leg that was closest to him. "Come on. It's after eight. Time to get up."

"It's Sunday," Noah moaned and tried to yank the duvet, which wasn't as yankable now that Will had sat his ass on it, keeping it just out of the kid's reach to pull back up above his head.

He shook his leg again. "Yep. And, you've hardly even said hi to me since I got in yesterday. So time to get up. We're going to spend some time together. I haven't seen you in 10 days."

"I want to sleep," Noah mumbled.

"Too bad. Up an' at 'em," Will told him again.

Noah tried to grab at the duvet again and Will yanked it further down his back instead.

"At least rollover," he said. "I've got something for you."

Noah glanced at him a bit with that.

"Well, sit up and I'll show you," Will said.

Noah smacked his head back into the pillow, though. "Mom said you weren't bringing me anything."

Will shrugged. "I didn't say it was something from my trip."

Noah glanced at him again. "What is it then?"

"Sit up," Will nodded at him.

Noah seemed to consider it for a long while but then rolled over and pulled his knees to his chest on the bed and looked at Will.

"Hi Noah," he said. "Good to see you. I missed you."

Noah rolled his eyes.

Will shook his head. "Don't do that."

Noah just bounced his arms on the top of his knees and rested his chin there. "So what is it?" he asked.

Will handed him the plastic bag containing the soccer jersey and Noah just kind of looked at it – making no move to take it or look inside.

"Mom said I didn't deserve it right now," Noah said quietly.

Will watched him. "Do you think you deserve it?"

Noah gave a small shrug.

Will took the bag and pulled out the shirt and put it on the bed at Noah's feet. "Chelsea. That's what you wanted, right?"

Noah just shrugged again.

"OK," Will said, and gathered it back up, putting it into the bag. "I'll get it out of here then. I'm sure someone at work might have a kid that wants it."

Noah snagged the bag back and set it off to the side of him, stuffing it slightly behind his back.

Will snorted and shook his head. "You're welcome," he said rather sternly.

Noah just rubbed his mouth across his clutched hands on the top of his knees and offered no comment.

Will stood. "Com'on, get up. We're going out. I need to go down to my office for a bit."

Noah rested his cheek on his hands. "I don't want to," he mumbled.

Will shook his head. "It wasn't multiple choice, son."

Noah just rubbed his cheek again his hand more.

Will sighed. He put his hand against the top of Noah's head and ruffled his hair a bit. Noah jerked away slightly. "Com'on, Noah. We'll ride down …"

"Mom doesn't like me riding," Noah said.

"Mom doesn't like you riding like you think you're invincible. Like you don't value your life," Will said sternly.

"Maybe I don't," Noah said quietly.

Will grabbed at his head and turned it and then tapped his forehead so he was looking at him. "Don't talk like that, Noah," he said.

Noah just gazed at him for a moment and then put his cheek back against his knees.

"That's an awful thing to say, Noah," Will said. "That's not something to say casually. You say things like that and your Mom and I need to take it seriously."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Noah said just as quietly.

Will sat back down on the corner of the bed and looked at him. "I think you did."

Noah shook his head where it was.

Will sighed and gave his foot a squeeze. "OK, Noah. Well, you're going to come down to the office with me. We're going to have a bit of a bike ride. A bit of a talk."

Noah shook his head again.

Will nodded. "It's not optional, Noah. Your Mom needs a break. And, I've got to go and drop some stuff off at work and I want to check my mailbox there."

"Why's Mom need a break?" he asked quietly.

"I think you know the answer to that, bud."

"I can just stay here with her," he said.

"Nope. Mom's taking some her-time and then she wants to go down to her work too and put in some of the time she lost this week."

Noah rubbed his face against his hands some more. "I can just stay here."

"No, you can't, Noah," Will said sternly. "Com'on. Get up. We'll stop in at Comixology on the way back home."

Noah shook his head again. "I can't."

Will made a mock-shocked sound. "You're turning down some browsing time in Comixology? Now I know something really is wrong. You didn't go off and check out the new releases without me while I was gone, did you?"

Noah glanced at him. "I'm grounded."

Will nodded. "I know. But Mom and I talked about it. No allowance for a month. You've got some more chores coming at you – and even more if you give lip. You aren't going to the game with your cousins. And, Mom or I get to go through that backpack of yours every night for the rest of the school year, Noah. We get to know about all your assignments, see that student calendar of yours, and we're going to be checking all your homework now. You've lost some of our trust in your ability to have all that in order on your own."

"Can't you just do all that online," he mumbled.

Will tapped his forehead again. "Hey, what'd I just say about lip?"

Noah glanced at him again. "I just want to stay here," he said.

Will shook his head. "Too bad, bud. You're right – you're still grounded. So maybe we can still do some fun things while you are – we can stop at a comic shop on the way home, I may even buy you some lunch. But you've lost some of your privileges. So, right now, you get to be under our supervision and will do what we say. So, I'm telling you to get up, get dressed, and we're going to go down to campus. OK?"

"No," Noah said.

"OK. That was a rhetorical question. I'm going out back to get the bikes ready. I want to see you out there in 20, Noah."


End file.
